Of Blood And Choices
by DaniNatureGirl391
Summary: "Sometimes, what's left behind can grow better than the generation before, if given the chance." So claimed Simba to Kovu. But will it prove true for Michael's granddaughter, as she deals with life in his infamous shadow? How can a mob princess break free from the family's chains? This is her story.
1. Chapter 1

_**AN: And so, it begins.**_

A buzzing noise woke the twenty-two-year-old. She groaned and rubbed her eyes, rolling over. She mumbled a "Yeah, yeah" under her breath as she reached for the cell phone on her bedside table.

It was a text message from Monica: "What's up?"

She replied, "I am, and it's your fault."

An emoji was sent back to her: a smiley face with its tongue, sticking out. She made a chuffing sound, rolling her eyes and closing the phone. She put it back in front of a certain framed portrait: a black-and-white wedding still from the 1940s. In it, her grandfather and his three siblings were standing next to their father. She focused on it for a couple of minutes. Her gaze drifted past Great-Grandpa Vito, past Great-Uncles Sonny and Fredo, and past Great-Aunt Connie in her stunning gown. The last face held the most significance: Grandpa Michael, the innocent war hero turned lonely mob kingpin. He looked so striking in his uniform. Even though decades had passed since his time in the service, he was still buried in it. She was born on his birthday, two years after his death. She'd been told on many occasions of her resemblance to him. Sighing, she pressed two fingers to her lips, and then to the image.

Softly, she said, "Look out for me, okay?"

After a shower, it took a while to brush all the knots out of her thick hair. It sometimes felt like she was doing strength-training, with the amount of force she had to use. Her medallion glittered against the royal-blue backdrop of the sweater she pulled on. She ran her thumb over the image on it: St. Valentine, patron of love and the man she'd been named for. Applying her makeup and tying her boots, she finally went downstairs to breakfast.

"Morning, Val."

"Hey", she replied, ruffling the curly hair of her sixteen-year-old brother.

Paulo was the complete package of a surfer dude, right down to his Hawaiian-print shirts and pooka necklaces. In fact, he had one on that morning, layered over the sweater that blocked out autumn's slight chill. His hazel eyes charmed nearly all the girls in his school. He, however, only had eyes for one: Alison Bianchi, his girlfriend of one year. They handled their relationship in the old-school, classy way. She even wore his baseball championship ring. He owed his sister majorly for setting them up. Of course, part of the reason it'd been so easy to introduce them from the association Alison's family had with theirs. It was often hard to connect with people, who didn't already understand the mob lifestyle.

Watching Val pour milk over her organic chocolate cereal, he said, "I can't believe you've become such a health nut."

She smirked at him and replied, "I haven't. I just like to keep some things, like chemicals and preservatives, to a bare minimum."

"Mm…Alison likes stuff at a bare minimum, too, if you know what I mean."

She rolled her eyes when he closed that sentence with a wink.

Then, another voice entered the picture: "Don't ruin her appetite with your dirty mind."

The siblings glanced over their shoulders as their father walked into the kitchen. Save for his blue eyes and more delicate nose, Anthony Corleone was a near-mirror of his father. There were a few grey streaks at his temples, as well as small bags under his eyes. He was smiling, too, as he walked over and kissed the tops of each of his children's heads. Paulo tried to shrug it off, but his barely-there smile showed how much he liked it.

Val giggled and said, "Sleep okay, Daddy?"

"Yeah, kitten. Your mom's in the shower, trying out that new soap your sister sent us."

Natalia, the baby of their bunch at age thirteen, was currently on a trip with her best friend's family. She was the one over whom their mother hovered the most, so the small gift was a way of temporarily pacifying her. Val poured her father a glass of orange juice, sliding it along the counter to his waiting hand. She then did the same for herself and her brother.

Seeing Paulo's slightly-confused facial expression, she told him, "You need more Vitamin C, scooter. It helps boost your immune system."

"Whatever."

He tried to play it cool. But she bit back a giggle when, from the corner of her eye, she saw him take a big gulp of the juice. She was reaching for a banana, when her mother finally entered the kitchen. Lisa Nichols-Corleone was a human firecracker, her seemingly-perpetual smile almost bright enough to blind the sun. She patted her children's backs as she walked past them and sat at the table.

She told Anthony, "I'm heading to Home Depot today."

"For the pool-house stuff?"

"Yeah. I need to order the paint."

"Sounds good", he replied mid-chew.

Val planned to move into the pool-house, once the renovations were complete. The reason it took so long was the addition her father insisted on. After some serious cajoling, she'd chosen a sock-hop theme for the new entertainment/den area. This was why they needed the paint. She dropped off her maternal grandmother's prescription, before heading to her job at the library. She smiled at her coworkers while punching in. Though the mob wasn't as high-profile as it used to be, her family still provoked a nervous response when mentioned. So, her card was under her mother's maiden name.

Her first task of the day was turning on all the computers, while her second was re-shelving all the recently-returned books. She was in the middle of doing that, when a group of second graders entered the library. The corner of her mouth twitched up. This field trip had been planned for a week. She helped the receptionist carry over the trays of oatmeal-raisin cookies and cups of punch. Her smile grew as she waved at a couple of the kids, before pivoting on her heel and moving to return to her work. Just then, a little girl jogged over and tugged on the corner of her shirt. Val turned back around, crouching down to the child's level.

"What is it, sweetie?"

"Can you read to us, Miss Nichols? Please."

"Sure. What story do you want?"

"The boys picked one."

She led Val over to a rocking-chair. The twenty-two-year-old stifled a laugh. The chosen story was " _Star Wars: A New Hope_ ", in holographic picture-book form. She'd read it many times, but it still remained a favorite. She crossed her legs as she sat down, taking a deep breath before starting to read. This was something she loved more than anything. It was a special way of combining her major, English literature, with her minor in theater arts. One had to be a good actor to hold the interest of young children, especially during story-time.

She smiled at the giggles that went around the room when she growled out, "I have you now."

Val made a gesture with her right hand, indicating the loud tone the book said Darth Vader had spoken with. She took an overly-dramatic bow five minutes later, when the tale ended. Then, she heard the faint sound of her cell's ringtone in her pocket: "Beggin' ", from the musical "Jersey Boys. It was her cousin, Monica, calling. Quickly glancing from side-to-side, Val ducked back into the file room so they could speak in private. She pressed a tiny button with her manicured thumbnail, and she brought the phone to her ear.

"Talk to me, Nic."

"Well, hi to you, too."

A giggle was followed by, "What's up?"

Monica replied, "Nothing much. Mom wanted to know if you could come with us to lunch."

"My lunch break is another two hours away. You know that."

"And _you_ know a Girl Scout always has to be prepared."

The mentioned mother was Great-Uncle Sonny's daughter, Francesca. Known as Chessi to family and close friends, she'd inherited his legendary sarcastic sense of humor. She'd also inherited his chocolate-brown hair, which nowadays fell to her ribcage in glossy ringlets. A few strands of silver were scattered throughout, including small bunches at her temples.

Sighing and checking her watch, Val said, "Um…yeah, I should be able to. Once the elementary school group leaves, I'll tell my boss where I'm going. Wait. Where _am_ I going, exactly?"

"To a place in Manhattan. Is that okay?"

"Sure. It's fine. I'll see you then."

"See you."

At the promised time, Val was leaning against a pillar as she waited for her cousins to show up. Using her phone to check Facebook helped her stay occupied. She'd just shared a picture of a fairy by a river to a friend's wall, when the loud beep of a car horn drew her attention. She looked to her left, smiling when her gaze met Chessi's through the windshield. They hugged when she walked around to the driver's side. As she sat down, Val high-fived Monica, handing over her phone so the other girl could look at the pictures. The good mood remained during the drive into Manhattan. She was mildly surprised when the hostess at the restaurant said a table had already been prepared. Suddenly, there was a loud cough, and Val turned in the direction of the noise. A familiar figure sat in a dimly-lit corner far across the room. She caught the glint of light off the silver pinkie ring he wore, and the corner of his mouth twitched up when they made eye-contact. His grey hair appeared flaxen under the hanging lamp's glow.

His smile grew as he waved all three of them over, calling warmly, "Valentina! Come, _bella_ , come!"

Many in New York's high-society knew this man. The police were familiar with him, too, just as they were with several of her other relatives. He'd stood as godfather at her baptism. He was Vincent: head of the Corleone family, and her second-cousin. He gave her a bear-hug when she reached the table, as well as a loud kiss on her left cheek. After kissing her other cheek, as well as the cheeks of the other two women present, he gestured for them to sit.

He said, "I ordered mozzarella sticks as an appetizer. But I wanted to wait until youse got here, before I picked the main course. Seafood ravioli still your favorite, Val?"

"Nothing better."

"I think my wife would say different about her chicken picatta, but that's just me."

She smiled, and the slight bit of awkwardness instantly lifted. A waitress took their orders, before disappearing.

Then, Val began sharing details of her job: "I love the kids. No matter how bad I feel going in there, seeing them smile makes all that worth it."

"Good. It's a great way to hone your instincts for the future."

A giggle was followed by, "Don't worry. I've got plenty of time to think about having children of my own."

"Well, that's nice and all, but I actually meant somethin' else. This job will teach you how to organize, how to keep track of a bunch of people when everything's goin' crazy."

Her smile decreased slightly, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. She knew what Vincent was hinting at. Ever since she turned eighteen, he'd been dropping little references to the possibility of her, taking a position of power in the family. He probably thought she was waiting to be done with her degree program. There were so many people involved with the family business, that she often lost count. Naturally, the topmost tier involved blood relatives. But even within that, Val and her bunch were looked at as royalty. It was like being a king or queen, in a group of dukes and duchesses. Michael Corleone was the cream of the legend crop within the mob. To be his descendant was something special, or so she was constantly being told. Whenever it was brought up, she'd always smile politely and wave it off, all the while cringing inside. As much as she loved her grandfather, she often felt like a dark cloud was constantly hanging over her, waiting to corrupt and consume her as it did him. This struggle was constantly on her mind, but she couldn't let it be so now. This was meant to be a happy get-together. She'd keep it that way.

Val gave a low hum of delight at her first sip of sangria. She was used to the odd glass of wine at home, but it was rarely like this. The elegance of it made her feel pretty, like a scene out of " _The Great Gatsby_ ". Gathering around a table to eat and talk played such a crucial part in Italian culture. So, getting the best seats at restaurants was one of the few facets of mob life she actually enjoyed. Her knee bounced anxiously as she waited for the food. Monica saw this and rolled her eyes.

She then reached over and patted her cousin's arm saying, "Calm down. Geez. You're starting to make _me_ nervous."

"I can't help it."

"You know what _I_ can't help? Noticing how that waiter," and she gestured to the right, "—won't stop staring at you."

Val turned where Monica had pointed. Sure enough, a man in his late-twenties or early-thirties was staring at them as he swept the floor. But when he realized he'd been caught, he quickly looked away. Both girls hid giggles behind their hands. He was a handsome guy: about 5'9 or 5'10 in height, dark brown hair that had a slight curl to it, cobalt-blue eyes, and a thin heart-shaped face. When the twenty-two-year-old again looked at him, this time on her own, he didn't turn away. The corner of his mouth flipped up in a shy smile, and her heart flipped in her chest along with it. She felt her cheeks get warm, and she forced her gaze to break from his. Whoa. That was weird. She forced a cough to cover her emotions. Now, she was a different kind of anxious, which was only cured when their waitress arrived with their orders. Thank goodness. She crossed herself in silent prayer, before digging in.

She was part-way into her meal, when Vincent spoke up again: "The Lady Boss wants to see you when we get home. Says youse don't talk enough."

Knowing who he meant, she gave an indulgent smile and said, "Sure. I'll go."

The compound was so big, that it was easy to go a week without seeing a specific relative. Granted, not every family member lived there, but the principle still stood. It would be interesting to have a sit-down with Great-Aunt Connie. She was right on that level, at least. They really didn't talk enough.

 _ **AN: I hope I got all the shown personalities right. Can't wait for your feedback.**_


	2. Chapter 2

Val was grateful for the pit-stop she made at her room, before heading to the den in the main house. She had two tests coming up, and she needed the texbooks to get in some extra studying. Any little bit helped, even in the least-likely of times. Great-Aunt Connie was taking a phone call in another room, so she had a few minutes alone in the den. Two rugs were on the floor, one Persian and one Italian. There was mahogany wood all over the place, including beneath the rugs. The grandeur was a great concealer. That room was so full of ghosts, it was like a scene out of "The Sixth Sense". She shook her head to clear away the dark thoughts, before choosing a random spot to sit down and begin studying. She lifted her music apreciation book onto her lap, before putting in the buds of her iPod and taking out a green highlighter from her purse. All was quiet for a little while. Val was careful to highlight anything that could be used by her professor. This was especially true in the case of the footnotes, no detail too small to be overlooked. She started hearing approaching footsteps, but she was too wrapped up to pay any real attention. She barely even heard the door creak open.

A warm, familiar voice suddenly snapped her out of her trance: "When I see you in that chair, you look just like your grandfather."

As she looked up, her eyes met those of her great-aunt: Connie Corleone. The cane she used did nothing to diminish her commanding aura. She smiled at the twenty-two-year-old, flashing her famous dimples. Looking down, Val realized it was true. She'd been sitting in what was once Grandpa Michael's favorite chair. She'd seen countless pictures of him in it, which sent an icy jolt down her spine.

Standing up, she asked, "Do you miss him a lot?"

"Some days more than others. When I was really little, he'd play tea-party with me."

"Grandpa played tea-party? From what I've heard, he never seemed the type."

"Oh, he wasn't. But he was the only one, who couldn't say no to me. That bond kept going, until he went into the army."

The tone of her voice suggested this part of the conversation was over, which mildly suprised Val. She waited for her great-aunt to take her seat behind the antique desk, ignoring the sense of being in a job interview, before she moved to another spot closer to her. Once she was conscious of that armchair, she couldn't stay in it any longer. She smiled when Connie handed her one of the mugs of hot tea she'd been carrying. It was orange pekoe, their shared favorite.

After the first couple of sips, she asked, "So...what's going on?"

"I just wanted to talk. Is it so wrong?"

She knew that was a lie. Just wanting to talk means you tap someone on the shoulder in the hallway, or wherever you happen to come across them. To make a specific request to see them in private meant there was someting more going on.

Sure enough, she got the truth a few seconds later: "Oh, alright. There's a formal dinner party I've been invited to, and I want you to go with me."

"Just the two of us?"

"Us and Mikey."

This was her son, Michael Rizzi, named for his infamous uncle in both his first and middle names. Val shrug off the sweet thought, remembering the massacre that'd been going on at the same time as his baptism. The incident was family legend by now, though seldom mentioned openly. Her cousin was cordial around her, but his ties to the grandfather she'd never known always sent a chill down her spine. She listened as Connie went on to describe the meeting that would take place beforehand, with the party to happen afterwards. It was then that she understood what was truly going on. If the whole family wasn't invited, then it wasn't just an acknowledgement from high-society. This was mob business, and Val was getting dragged into it without a thought for her opinion. If she was being told this by anyone else, she would've been raging by now. But this was her great-aunt, the power behind the throne so to speak, and she couldn't afford to lose control in front of her. She was suddenly aware of the silence between them, a silence that grew more awkward by the second.

She forced the politest, warmest smile she could and said, "I'll be there. But, since this is a special occsion, I think I'll need a new dress."

Connie smiled back and replied, "I'm sure you and Nic will have no trouble, tearing the mall apart."

A giggle was followed by, "Of course not."

"Good. So, how was your day? Vince told me you read to some elementary schoolers?"

"Yes, I did. They liked my Darth Vader impression. Was Grandpa Michael good at those, too?"

"No. That was Sonny's arena."

The rest of their conversation dealt with more everyday subjects, things she barely paid attention to even as she spoke. Her lips moved, while her mind was elsewhere. She was still in that mode later, when Monica found her reading by the pool.

Pulling up a chair, she said, "Okay, you're in a mood. What's wrong?"

"I'm going to the dog show."

"Oh please. It's just a party."

"Nothing is ever _just_ anything else in _this_ family."

Vall then put her bok down, taking a breath before continuing, "Great-Aunt Connie wants me to attend a business gala with her and Mikey. You know I couldn't say no to her."

"Why not some other older relative? And why only the three of you?"

"I told you already, Nic. It's a show. They're parading around another Corleone heiress, showing how great our future will be."

She used the word "another", because similar things had been done before. They were meant to dress up and look like they were having fun, but that wasn't the true point. As usual, it was business, not personal.

Swallowing hard, Monica asked, "What do you think the plan is?"

"Probably an alliance. I'm sure some of the other families will bring along sons my age. If one takes a liking to me, perhaps an agreement could be made."

"An arranged marriage? What is this, ' _Game of Thrones_ '?"

"Might as well be. It's insane."

"Mm. So, what are you going to do?"

"What I always do-smile, talk politely, play the game. All I've done since I was born it seems is play the game."

"No. I meant after the party. General things."

When their eyes met, Val said, "Still not getting it here."

"Cous, look", she said as she leaned closer, "-you're going to make a choice at some point. You can't ride the fence forever."

"What else is there, Nic? What else is there?"

 _ **AN: Next chapter is the party. We'll meet a few of Val's friends, & an acquaintance from the previous chapter will reappear.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**AN: "Conceal. Don't feel. Put on a show. Make one wrong move, and everyone will know." Seemed an appropriate quote, given Val's earlier remarks about playing the game.**_

"You look gorgeous, sweetheart."

"Thanks, Aunt Connie."

Every detail of her chosen outfit was perfect: a vintage sleeveless gown, wine-colored with black lace overlay, along with black heels and pearl studs in her ears. If this party went the matchmaking route she expected it to, at least the clinginess of the gown made it seem like she was totally fine with that. She'd told Monica that she had to play the game. And so, she would. Light jazz music played over the loudspeakers, as they walked into the private meeting room. Everything around her seemed to have been modeled after the movie "Titanic". She stood on Mikey's right, her great-aunt on his left, each with a hand folded into the crooks of his elbows. Six muscle-bound men were scattered around the area. The person who'd asked for this meeting soon made an appearance: Joey Lucio. He was head of the family's PR team.

He smiled and greeted each of them in turn: "Constanzia. Michael. And... _no_. This _cannot_ be little Valentina. It feels like only yesterday, that I was at your baptism."

A bit of genuiness came into her smile at his sweet words. Sometimes, she really was just too sentimental. She accepted a peck on each cheek, nodding in thanks when he politely pulled out a chair for her. After doing the same for Connie, he walked around to the other side of the table and took his own seat.

He then said, "You're very graceful. That's a trait many in your generation keep undervaluing. It'll serve you well in the future."

Gesturing at her great-aunt and cousin, Val replied, "Well, I did have the best teachers anyone could ask for."

She threw a playful wink at Connie, and the older woman smiled. Good. The ice was now offcially broken. She'd done her part. Focusing on that idea made it easy for her to tune out the rest of their conversation. She barely registered the twitches of the corners of her mouth, which happened every handful of seconds. As time ticked by, her mind wandered to various places. Napa Valley, California. Aspen, Colorado. Edinburgh, Scotland, which happened to be her favorite city in that cluster of islands. And of course, the family's ancestral home in Sicily, from which they drew their name. She hadn't been there in a decade, but there were plans to return for her next milestone birthday. Three years to go. She couldn't wait. She came out of her musings at the loud sound of a throat clearing, and she again focused her gaze on Joey.

Lifting a glass of wine to his lips, his smile grew as he said, "I see your grandfather in you, sweetheart."

"I've been hearing that a lot lately."

"Well, it's true. He had that same straight-ahead stare. He never let anyone know what he was thinking."

Val glanced sideways, when she heard Connie shift in her seat. Grandpa Michael must've used those exact words once. She had to ask her about it at some point.

Deciding to diffuse the situation with humor, she told Joey, "You don't _want_ to know what I'm thinking."

He laughed and clapped his hands together once.

"I _like_ this girl!"

Soft laughter spilled around the room. Most of the serious business talk ended soon after that. Thank goodness. Joey led the trio back out into the main dining/ballroom area, telling them about how no expense had been spared for the gala.

One detail involved the serving staff: "We've brought in waiters from five of the top restaurants in Manhattan. Only the best, right?"

Connie smiled and replied, "Of course."

Val smiled, too, happy that the atmosphere now felt a bit lighter. It was at this point that she was finally able to break away, weaving a path through the party guests. Suddenly, she felt a tap on her shoulder, and she looked over her shoulder.

"Hey, stranger."

Not a stranger at all. They hadn't spoken much lately, because of her being so busy with school and work, but she'd still recognize him anywhere.

"Robby Milano."

"Hey, Teen-Bean."

They shared a warm, happy hug.

"So, what've you been up to lately", he asked.

She replied, "Still in school, but I also have a job at the library. You?"

"I'm trainin' down at the track."

He meant cars, not horses. Robby was a bit of a daredevil, both as a kid and now. They'd often discussed his dream of becoming a Formula One driver.

"I wish Nic could've been here. She's a big adrenaline junkie, too."

"Yeah. You know, you never did follow through on your promise to introduce us."

He'd had a thing for Monica for years, and he made no secret of it. Val giggled, giving him a light, playful shove. Realizing that the background noise had changed, he made an overly-dramatic expression and pointed upwards at the loudspeakers.

"They're playin' our song."

"We're not a couple, dude."

"Don't make it any less special."

"Mm-hm. It was really special at the graduation dance, when you were trying to impress Grace Miller and split your pants."

He waved her off, saying, "A minor setback."

"Minor? She laughed so hard, the sherbet punch was practically coming out of her nose."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

They were soon joined by another pair of friends: Marcus Angelo and his baby sister, Cecelia. She was two years his junior, but the more mature one. Their dad and uncle were both captains in the family.

As they hugged, Val asked, "How's that guy you've been seeeing, Lia?"

"Chris is good. He's been talking with Dad a lot, so...I think he might be getting ready."

"Poppin' the question, huh? Poor son-of-a-gun."

Robby was still laughing, despite the fact that his comments had earned him an elbowing in the stomach. Then, he turned to face the siblings directly.

He asked them, "You here that Mattie Swan is back?"

"Mattie? No one's heard from him in ages", Markus replied.

Matthew Sarasa had been a close childhood friend of theirs. His late biological father had been a direct Sicilian immigrant. But the stepdad who'd adopted him was from India, hence his last name.

"Well, you're hearin' from me _now_ ", a voice behind them said.

He smiled when they all turned around to see him. Val's jaw fell slightly open. Her old friend was about six feet tall now and was dressed like a stereotypical gangster of old, right down to the gallon of gel in his golden-brown hair. The lighting in the ballroom brought out the gold flecks in his hazel eyes. He had some problems in his teen years, which was why they hadn't seen him in so long. A warm chuckle escaped him, when he noticed the look on Val's face.

He asked, "What? Was I chopped liver before?"

"Uh...no. Not at all", she replied, hugging him.

As they pulled apart, he replied, "Good answer. Now, are we gonna hit the floor, or what? The song they're playin' now is nice."

He held out his hand and wiggled his eyebrows, smiling again when it made her laugh. Nodding, she placed her hand in his, and he led her out. Neither of them really knew how to waltz, but they figured their tentative steps weren't too bad.

In the middle of the dance, Val asked, "So...how's that court case doing?"

"One of my stepdad's cousins pulled some strings. My record got expunged last week."

"That's great! I'm surprised the process was so easy."

"Yeah. Well...I got a feelin' he had a little help."

He tilted his head towards a specific corner of the room. When she looked in that direction, she saw that her great-aunt and cousin were both staring at them. She detected the faint shimmer of tears in the older woman's eyes. What was that about?

Slowing their dance to a pause, she asked Mattie, "Uh, could I, you know, go see if she's okay?"

"Not even a question. Go ahead. And tell her I said 'Hi'."

"Will do."

With that, she gave a light tap to the side of his neck, and she made her way over to Connie's side.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, sweetheart. It's just that...I was remembering another time, is all. Another dance."

Which dance? The one between her and Great-Grandpa Vito at her first wedding? The ones between her and her other husbands at later weddings? Her brothers and their wives?

Val got her answer a couple of seconds later: "I wish Mary could've been here to see this."

Mary. The aunt she'd never gotten the chance to know. Her father rarely spoke about his late sister, claiming he found it too painful. He still paid tribute, though, in the middle name of his younger daughter. According to some older relatives, Natalia had many of her personality traits. She was coming back from her trip in two days. In that precise moment, Val found herself missing the hyper thirteen-year-old. She knew she'd be happy to see Mattie again. She watched as he moved on to dance with Cecelia, which drew her cousin's attention.

Mikey said, "You snooze, you lose, pretty girl. Got to keep your eye on certain dudes. Know what I mean?"

She let out a soft chuff of laughter, nudging him in the side. Then, he surprised her by offering his own hand for a dance. She was also surprised by how quickly she said yes. Maybe, she was actually starting to have a good time. That second dance made her hungry, and Mikey laughed when she told him so. She didn't think she'd like filet mignon glazed with duck sauce, but this seemed to be a night for proving assumptions wrong. She never thought she'd see Mattie again, but she did. She thought she'd spend the entire evening, tense and bored out of her mind, but the second thing certainly wasn't true. The call for dinner brought a land-rush of people over to the serving table. Val felt like she was caught in a stampede, and she knew how funny it must've looked to everyone outside the fray. She'd had enough of socializing. Time for a break. She wandered out onto a quiet balcony that overlooked a lake on the property. It reminded her of pictures she'd seen of her grandfather's second house at Lake Tahoe. Her travel-sized Kindle helped keep her occupied.

Little did she know, that she was being watched. One of the waiters had stepped outside for a smoke, thinking he'd have some time by himself. He was wrong. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a dim light through one of the decorative bushes. Curious, he walked over and pushed down a couple branches. His heart skipped a beat. He'd never seen a woman so gorgeous before. She had dark hair, but the shadows prevented him from seeing it was brown or black. The pearl studs in her ears practically glowed in the moonlight. She looked like a star from the glamorous golden years of Hollywood. Before he could stop himself, he let out a breathless "Wow". She must've heard that, because she suddenly turned around and looked in his direction. Not wanting to embarrass either himself or her, he immediately ducked back. Unfortunately, his heel landed on a stay leaf, and he slipped and landed flat on his back. The cigarette fell from his hand, burning his skin slightly. A sharp curse passed his lips. So much for no embarrassment.

The sound of rushing footsteps was followed by, "Are you alright?"

When their eyes met, they both felt a rush of familiarity.

She said, "You were at the restaurant a few days ago. You couldn't stop staring at me then, either."

"Kinda hard not to, sweetheart."

He smiled when that comment made her giggle. He then held out his hand, the plea for help clear in his eyes. The corner of her mouth twitched as she gripped his hand, surprised by the jolt that shot through her when they touched. Once he was on his feet, she realized he was about two inches taller than her. His cobalt eyes had a naughty, but playful glint in them. She was spellbound. She was torn from her brief daze when he cleared his throat.

"So, I'm assumin' such a beautiful creature has a name."

Forcing another giggle, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and said, "Creature? Think you're Jack Sparrow, or something?"

"Nah. Can't do a good enough accent."

He let out a warm chuckle of his own. Then, his eyebrow quirked up to indicate he was still waiting for an answer to the name question. Staightening her posture, she held out her hand again.

"I'm Val."

His hand closed around hers, giving it a single, firm shake.

He replied, "I'm Derek. Derek Russo."

"Nice to meet you."

"Yeah. This backache won't be so _nice_ in the mornin', though."

"Well, you should've known better than to play spy."

"We went from Johnny Depp to Daniel Craig in one conversation. Guess you know a lot of famous types."

If only he knew. Since he was so bold in approaching her, she assumed he didn't know who she truly was. Most guys who wanted to talk to her, guys outside mob life, were incredibly cautious. Her last name put some pause in a lot of peoples' steps.

Derek then asked, "So, what's your story?"

She deliverately kept her response vague: "I'm here with some family members and a few friends, just enjoying the night."

"Okay. I hope I see you again."

Her breath caught in her throat. A prickly tingle ran down her arms, causing an eruption of goosebumps. What the hell was wrong with her? She'd been attracted to guys before, but it'd never been this strong. The corners of his mouth twitched. He must've known the effect he was having on her. Smug son-of-a-gun. To regain her composure, she smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in her gown. Glancing over his shoulder, she realized that it truly was time for good-bye. How? Because she spotted Mikey, walking across the ballroom in her direction.

Clearing her throat, she said with a smile, "I hope I'll see you again, too."

This was a dismissal, and he knew it. He stomped out his old cigarette and lit a new one, a low chuckle rumbling deep in his throat. As he walked past Val and brought it to his lips, he lightly tapped her arm in farewell. She did the same to his shoulder, her smile growing the tiniest bit.

When she got to Mikey's side, he asked, "Who was that guy you were talking to?"

"Just a waiter. He stepped out for a smoke, while I was reading. No big deal."

"Readin'? You had that bright little thing in the darkness out there? You're gonna ruin your eyes, if you keep that up."

She giggled and said, "I'm not worried. I'm stronger than that. I'm a Corleone, after all."

His reply came out through laughter: "Damn straight. You're tougher than me, girl. I can tell you that much."

"I highly doubt that."

Their arms were around each other as they walked back to where Connie was. Still, Val couldn't resist sneaking one last glance back. She could just barely see Derek's profile in the darkness. That was one fascinating guy. But like she'd told Mikey, he was no big deal, and he had to stay that way.

 _ **AN: See? I told you somebody would come back. (giggle)**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**AN: Just a random filler that popped into my head.**_

She'd never felt this level of panic in her entire life. Somebody-no, multiple sombodies-were after her. She could feel their eyes, hear every panting breath and running scrape of shoes on the ground. She could taste the sweat of fear, as it dripped down from her forehead and landed on her lips. Her heart pounded wildly, and the pressure at her temples felt like multiple rubber-bands were being stretched around her head. Suddenly, dark clouds appeared on the horzon. They approached her at a rapid pace, almost chasing her, like the debris of a falling building. It felt like the world was closing in on her. Suddenly, there was a loud chorus of screams, comin from all sides. She put her hands up to cover her eyes, frightened of the dusty darkness. Next, there were gunshots. They seemed to fade into the background. But then, a loud one echoed too close to her. An extremely sharp pain tore into her back, and she finally made a noise: an almost-banshee-like screech. That same scream echoed all around her as her eyes shot open, and she took in the surroundings of her bedroom. Val clutched her bedcovers tight to her chest as she gasped for air, tucking a limp strand of hair behind her ear. The fear briefly returned, when she heard rushed footsteps coming closer to her room. Thank goodness, it was only her father. Anthony quickly strode over to his firstborn's side, sitting on the bed and gently taking her face in his hands.

"Qual `e il problema, gattino? Quello che `e succeso?"

Still breathing heavily, but trying to conceal her nerves, she shook her head and replied, "Nessun problema, Papa. Sto bene."

"Valentina…"

Lodging a knuckle under her chin, he turned her head so he could look directly into her eyes. He'd always been the only person who could see through whatever front she put up, and this moment was no different.

Sighing, she told him, "Un incubo."

They shifted back into English. Anthony asked what her nightmare was about.

"Just lingering anxiety from the party", she replied.

"I thought you said you had a good time."

"I did. I was happy to see Mattie again, smiling and in one piece."

"Yeah. I'm glad he's back, too. He really needs some stability. And, um", he said as he stood up, "I have an idea for something that'll push all those stresses away."

"What is it?"

He reached into the pocket of his bathrobe, taking out a folded piece of paper and handing it to her. Her eyes widened when she saw what the paper actually was: a postcard with Lake Tahoe on it. The irony was enormous. Then, she noticed the mischievous glint in his eyes, and she realized what was going on.

"Are you serious? We're going back? It's been _years_."

"Not too many. And _we_ aren't going back. _You_ are. You, a couple of your cousins, some friends. You deserve a fall break away from the city, and the stuffy parental unit."

He winked at her, smiling when she held out her arms for a hug. She whispered her gratitude into his ear, and they exchanged pecks on the cheek.

As Anthony walked back to her door, he glanced back over his shoulder and said, "Try to get some sleep. You need your strength now."

Val giggled, when he gestured at the postcard. He wiggled his fingers, as he shut the door between them. Flopping back against her pillow, she was still smiling as she kissed the postcard. She then turned to her left, balancing the card against the wedding portrait. A soft sigh escaped her, when her eyes met her grandfather's through the thin sheet of glass. Something about his smile reminded her of the guy she'd met at the party: Derek Russo. She shook her head to clear his image away, before re-focusing on the picture. The corner of her mouth twitched up.

Blowing a kiss to the image, she said, "It's weird. A part of me wishes you could be there, too. I guess, in a way, you _will_ be."

 _ **AN: Here are the translations for the Italian words used here, as best as I can remember them. 1)"What's the problem, kitten? What's the matter?" 2)"No problem, Daddy. I'm good." & 3)"A nightmare." Thank goodness for Google Translate.**_


End file.
